In the Valley of the Shadow
by ellijay
Summary: A surprise attack and a malfunctioning Stargate leaves SG-1 stranded on an alien planet and Daniel fighting for his life. Set prior to the second season episode "Need."
1. Chapter 1

"In the Valley of the Shadow" by ellijay

Summary: A surprise attack and a malfunctioning Stargate leaves SG-1 stranded on an alien planet and Daniel fighting for his life. Set prior to the second season episode "Need."

Author's Notes: This is an old story, written back when SG-1 was new and shiny. I'm reposting it now mainly to have all of my fic in one place, but also in the hopes that it finds new readers or maybe makes its way back to previous readers who might want to reminisce. This story was originally published under another name, but I'm still me, many years of life experience notwithstanding, and the title and contents of the story are the same.

* * *

Chapter 1

P3X792. They really needed to start giving these places names instead of just a string of numbers and letters designating… nothing, really. Nothing that really mattered. Although with so many worlds to explore, Daniel could hardly fault the lack of originality. He doubted he could do any better himself. Oh, he might come up with something more colorful, some name from an ancient Terran land, all liquid vowels and sibilants, pleasant to the ear, but in the end, that name would bear no more relation to the reality of the world to which it was applied than a random, impersonal code.

Sometimes they were lucky enough to find friendly natives, or more likely Goa'uld-transplanted neo-natives, who would tell them their name for the world, and sometimes a team might be in a place long enough or make a discovery distinctive enough that an appropriate name would suggest itself, but more often than not, there was just the code name.

Daniel sometimes played a game with himself, trying to give even the emptiest of worlds the dignity of a name: Ozymandius for desert ruins eroded to the point where not even he could find a clue of past lives to interest him; Bastet for the world where wind blew ceaselessly across barren, stony land with a howl like a pack of prowling felines; Caryatid for the plain of voluptuous, eroded mesas bearing the weight of the low-hanging clouds. He used these names all the time in his own personal journals, but one time he had slipped up and used his name for a place in an official briefing, Bacchus for the planet whose atmosphere contained just enough nitrous oxide to make the entire team giddy after a few hours. General Hammond had frowned and asked him to kindly stick to the proper designations, but Jack had chuckled and Sam had a twinkle in her eye when he looked at her. Teal'c had presented his usual stony-faced look of incomprehension, but Daniel had explained it to him later and was rewarded with an equally stony-faced look of bewilderment over the strange human's odd sense of humor.

Okay, fine. Stick to the facts, stick to the official planetary designations, stick to the procedures. He could give the General and all his superiors whatever they wanted, just as long as he could continue his search for the one thing that mattered most to him, even more than the study of ancient cultures that had dominated the majority of his adult life – his wife, Sha're; Sha're who had been given to him as a gift, but who had found something in him to treasure, a sympathetic heart or a kindred spirit or maybe just a fascination with the foreign; maybe all three. They both had been yearning for something missing in their lives, a connection to bridge the gap of loneliness and let them feel a part of the larger world around them. He hadn't even realized the void had been there until Sha're had filled it. In the end, she had given herself because she wished to do so, and he had accepted her for herself, not as a token of respect or a gift to appease the minion of an angry god.

They had shared a simple life, simple from his point of view, an existence free of the frustrations of the modern world he had been born into, but filled with its own unique challenges and the hard but rewarding work of meeting the basic requirements of day-to-day life. He had become a part of the community on Abydos in a way he had never been connected to a group of people before. He worked alongside Sha're and her people, ate meals with them, celebrated the feast days with them, helped them regain their lost literacy and cultural heritage.

At night, though, his whole world was Sha're, the fascinating mixture of her sensuality, innocence, earthy wisdom and keen intellect intriguing, astonishing and comforting him in equal measures. He had never felt more rewarded, more content, more at peace than he did in her arms. That existence had been taken from him by the Goa'uld, but it would be his again some day. He had promised that to himself, and he vowed it to Sha're's name in the empty darkness of every night without her. He would find her and free her from the alien parasite that inhabited her body and controlled her mind, no matter what the cost.

He sighed and brought his mind reluctantly back to the present task. New world, new number, standard procedure after emerging on the other side of the 'Gate. Sam, Jack and Teal'c had fanned out to investigate the immediate surroundings while he checked out the DHD, as the acronym-mongering military types had dubbed it, made sure it was in working order and determined the sequence of glyphs that would need to be depressed to return the team home. That was an important rule when entering an unfamiliar situation – always be sure you had a clear path of retreat. It might be military wisdom, but Daniel reminded himself it was also common sense. They had landed in the middle of enough dangerous, even potentially lethal situations that he'd learned firsthand the need of maintaining the slender thread that would return them to a safe harbor on the other side of the known universe.

"Just call me Ariadne," he muttered, taking one last look to make sure he had the order of glyphs just right. It wouldn't do to hesitate if the situation heated up unexpectedly.

Brushing his hands off on his pants, he turned to locate Sam to see if he could get her to take another look at the polished black tiles laid out over the stone terrace where this world's Stargate stood. He'd initially thought they were merely decorative, noteworthy for the fact that the shapes they formed were vaguely reminiscent of Norse runes, but a nagging hunch told him they might be something more.

He squinted and pushed his glasses up on his nose, turning slowly with his hand over his eyes, more out of habit than because of a need to shield his eyes from sunlight. This place was at a high altitude judging from the thinness of the air, or else the planet itself merely had a thin atmosphere, but that didn't seem to hinder the proliferation of tattered shrouds of chilled mist and fog veiling the midday sun and curling across the rocky ground and between the trunks of tall, dark trees.

He was so focused on trying to detect the movement at the edge of the clearing that would reveal the location of the other team members that he didn't notice the figure coming toward him until he turned to face it directly. By then it was too late. Something flashed dully and a stab of pain like ice and unbearable heat mixed together shot through his side. A wave of nausea washed over him as his eyes locked on his assailant – a short, vaguely humanoid figure, chest high to him and coated with dark brown fur. Its eyes shone brightly on either side of a broad, flat nose, its face softened by a fine down instead of the thick coat covering the rest of it. Daniel thought he could detect some very human emotion in those bright, black eyes, but whether it was surprise or fear or even triumph, he couldn't tell. His brain didn't seem to be functioning well enough at the moment to draw a conclusion.

Time seemed to slow down, and he and the creature stood motionless, eyes locked, Daniel distantly aware that his side seemed to be going numb at the same time as flares of pain were shooting out through the rest of his body from the same area. He finally managed to pull his gaze away from the creature who had attacked him, his head slowly tilting downwards to where he saw the fur-covered paw, more like a hand really, still holding the handle of the knife that was plunged into his right side just above the waist. The reality of what had happened finally sunk into his clouded brain, and his head jerked back up to shoot an accusing glance at the animal (person?) still standing before him. The creature apparently decided it had best beat a hasty retreat while it could and was gone in a flash, across the rocky field and into the misty forest, raising an alarm in a high-pitched, feral yowl as it went.

The unnerving sound snapped Daniel's perception of time back into place, and he went down hard and fast, his knees buckling underneath him and his right hand groping weakly at the handle of the still-imbedded knife as he fell. He managed to twist his body so he landed on his left shoulder, and as he hit the all-too-solid ground, he heard another cry as if from a distance, a strangely choked sound like an animal in pain. Had one of his teammates caught his fleeing attacker? It took him a moment to realize the sound had come from his own lips.

He felt strangely detached from himself, as if he were standing outside of his body looking down, but he couldn't see himself as he had heard people could when they had near-death experiences. It was as though his sight were still lodged in his body, along with the knife that he fumbled at with a hand that didn't seem to be able to grasp. A still coherent part of his mind wondered why he would be affected like this. He had sustained any number of injuries during his journeys with SG-1, including having been shot by Goa'uld weapons more than once. Pain had been chief among the effects of those unpleasant experiences, pain and the creeping symptoms of shock, never mind the times temporary death had been among the results, but never before had he felt anything like this, except maybe the time he'd been almost choked to death. This was different, though. A knife wound, especially one not in the vicinity of any highly critical organs as this one seemed to be – God, he hoped that was the case – shouldn't be sapping the strength from him so completely and clouding his mind so quickly.

Poison? That had to be it. The blade must have been poisoned, some quick-acting paralysis agent or maybe something more insidious – maybe something deadly that was even now continuing to spread into his bloodstream. He groaned and rolled onto his back, trying again, this time with his left hand, to dislodge the blade, but that hand seemed to be similarly affected. Oh, this was not good, not good at all…

* * *

Sam concentrated on her breathing, pulling deep inhalations of chilled, damp air in through her nostrils and blowing out through her mouth as she ran through the mists back towards the 'Gate. She had about-faced and headed off at a dead run when she heard what sounded like a wolf howling, followed by an even more distressing howl of pain in a human voice. Her heart did a quick two-step and tried to jump into her throat when she burst into the clearing and saw Daniel on his back between the 'Gate and the DHD, obviously not in the same condition he had been when they had arrived only a few minutes before.

The Colonel was already there, kneeling next to Daniel, and as she drew closer, she heard him saying with the usual O'Neill touch of sarcasm in the face of adversity, "Damn it, Daniel! I thought we had this ducking thing worked out."

She swallowed hard and tried to catch her breath as she dropped down on the other side of Daniel, taking in with a quick sweep of her eyes the ashen pallor of his face and the knife handle protruding from his side. Maybe it wasn't too bad. Maybe it hadn't gone in very deep. Maybe the blade wasn't very long. Maybe.

The Colonel was tugging with one hand at the corner of Daniel's jacket where it had become entangled around the knife handle, while simultaneously sweeping the forest with the gun in his other hand. She remained likewise vigilant, mentally daring the departed attacker to just try and return. But her attention needed to be elsewhere right now, checking on Daniel, so as soon as she caught sight of Teal'c emerging from the fog, she breathed a sigh of relief. Without a single word, the Jaffa stopped a few paces from his teammates and took up a defensive position, his back to them, ready to ward off another assault if it came.

The Colonel was cursing again, more seriously this time and without a hint of sarcasm. Her heart thumped a few helter-skelter beats, forcing her to take a deep and steadying breath. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, composing herself, then turned and leaned over Daniel's body to get a better look. The blade was buried to the hilt. So much for maybes.

"Carter…" The Colonel's voice trailed off as he leaned back on his haunches, his hand, smeared with Daniel's blood, coming to rest on the stock of his rifle.

"Yes, Sir. I've got it." She shoved her firearm to the side and quickly set about examining Daniel's wound, noting there seemed to be very little blood seeping out, making a small, hardly visible, wet stain on the black T-shirt. The blade had passed right through the shirt, effectively pinning the fabric to Daniel's side.

Daniel flinched away from her ministrations and attempted to tug at the handle of the knife with a weak and blindly groping hand. "No, Daniel," she said calmly and firmly, pushing Daniel's hand away. "Hold still and let me get a better look. You're going to be okay."

Daniel didn't seem to be reassured, though. His head was rolling back and forth against the ground, his eyes squeezed shut behind glasses that were gathering condensation from the damp air. He had been mumbling incoherently, but when she pushed his hand away, his eyes snapped open and he said quite distinctly and with a sense of urgency she had rarely seen in him, "Pull it out! Now!"

"That probably wouldn't be a good idea, Daniel." She spoke in a gentle but authoritative voice, exchanging worried glances with the Colonel. "It might do more damage coming out than it did going in. The bleeding's under control right now, and I don't want to do anything that might make it worse before I can get a better look."

She felt his body tensing under her hand where it rested on his hip as he strained to lift his head a few inches. "No." His voice was shaky, but determined. "Pull it out. I think – it's poisoned." The last word came out as more of a gasp than a word, and he went limp, his head smacking against the ground.

Her eyes locked with the Colonel's in a moment of panic, then she looked down and carefully pulled the edge of Daniel's shirt free of his waistband so she could look underneath. The skin around the knife was sticky with blood, but even through that and despite the dim light, she could see the dark, angry streaks emanating from the point of the wound. She pressed her hand firmly against his side and felt the heat radiating from his flesh. "I think he's right, Sir. We should get the knife out now, before any more of the poison gets into his system." She paused, took a deep breath. "You'll need to hold him down. This is going to hurt."

The Colonel nodded and leaned forward over Daniel, one hand pressing down firmly on each shoulder. Daniel's eyes were only half open and his breath was coming in short gasps. "Just hang in there, Daniel. Carter's going to take the knife out now, but it's probably going to hurt a little." Daniel blinked and weakly nodded his head. That was a good sign. As long as he stayed conscious and relatively coherent, he just might be all right. "I'm going to hang onto your arms here, but try not to kick her, okay? It's not polite to kick the person saving your ass."

Screw polite. She'd be more than happy to let him kick her as hard as he could if it would help. At the very least, a good, healthy yell would do wonders to assure her Daniel was going to be fine. She braced one hand on his side and wrapped the other hand around the knife handle as she silently counted to three.

* * *

It was so, so cold. The warmth was seeping out of his body, into the stones, even as the cold of the ground was seeping into him. His back and arms and legs felt numb, but his side was burning and his face felt flushed and hot. Jack was saying something about not kicking Sam. Not polite to kick ass… or something like that. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards. Kick ass. That was funny. He might've giggled if he had the strength.

Someone was touching his side, cool fingers pressing into the heat. Sam. Sam was going to pull the knife out. That was good… wasn't it? But it was going to hurt. Okay, he could deal with hurt. He was already dealing with it. What was a little more?

He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Sam's hand pushing more firmly against his side. She tugged at the blade, and he felt it scraping against bone, probably a rib. He shivered and swallowed hard. The sensation, although not really painful, was almost as unpleasant as the pain, reminding him of fingernails on chalkboards, something his students had loved to do back in the days when he was teaching. It somehow pleased them to see him flinch, something he had never understood, how someone could take pleasure in the discomfort of another.

But the scraping and resultant shiver also reminded him of the sound the grinding stone had occasionally made when Sha're was making flour for their bread. That was a more pleasant memory, and he retreated into it, into a world where Sha're had never been taken from him.

There was a dull roar beginning to rise in his ears, punctuated by the throbbing of his own pulse, first quick, then slow, then skipping a few beats altogether, like the syncopated rhythm of Abydonian music. He concentrated on it, almost certain he could feel the world spinning around him as it had the few times Sha're had dragged him out into the dancing throng at some celebration or other, her eyes twinkling with merriment and her dark hair flying as she twirled about. He dimly heard another voice as if from out of a deep, dark well, echoing and hollow, Sam saying, "Okay, here goes."

The sharp stab of agony that ripped through his side was more than enough to pull him out of his memories. It was worse, much, much worse, than the shock of the blade going in. His muscles all tightened at once, his back arched against the ground, and he struggled against Jack's hold even as he was glad of the restraint. Fortunately, his legs didn't seem to have the strength to move, or he might've given Sam or Jack or possibly both some bruises to remember. A strangled moan escaped his lips, the sound of someone too exhausted even to scream. He was sure he would've screamed if it hadn't been for the sapping effects of the poison.

After what seemed like an eternity in which the throbbing in his side filled his entire awareness, the pain melted gradually back to its former level, and his eyelids flickered open. He saw Sam holding the bloody knife in her hand, a wicked barb at its end snagged on what appeared to be a piece of his own flesh. He shivered once, stilled, then gulped and shivered again, a weak trembling passing through his body from his head to his toes, seeming to linger around his midsection.

He heard Jack saying he was going to get the 'Gate activated, but couldn't pull his eyes away from Sam as he watched her take a sample bag from one of her pockets and drop the knife inside. She gave him a half-smile and nodded in what he supposed was meant to be reassurance. "So Janet can take a look at it," she explained, "analyze it and figure out what the poison is." She was silent for a moment, her eyebrows wrinkling together. "You're going to be all right, Daniel."

He nodded and swallowed, letting his eyelids slide half closed. She was right. Of course she was. He would be fine. The knife was out. No more poison leeching into his system. But what if what was there already was enough? He felt his body trembling with cold, exhaustion, pain, shock – and a touch of hysterical amusement. _Et tu_ , furry brown alien? Then fall Daniel.

"Daniel?" Sam was shaking his shoulder. "Stay with me here, Daniel. I need you to open your eyes."

Okay, he could do that. With a massive expenditure of effort, he wrenched his eyelids upwards. Keeping them open might be another matter altogether. Maybe if he didn't blink, just stared as hard as he could…

Sam was rummaging in her pockets again, coming up with a first aid kit this time. Oh. Bandage. A bandage would be good, he supposed. Keep him from bleeding any more than was strictly necessary. But that wasn't a bandage she was pulling out. It was – oh no, no, no. Disinfectant. Oh shit. That was gonna hurt.

He tensed as he felt her pulling his shirt, now free of the knife, away from his skin. The chilly air actually felt pleasant against the stoked fire burning in his side. And actually, the disinfectant felt kind of good as well, cool liquid running across his skin, seeping into the wound and– Oh! Oh _shit_! Oh God, that hurt! He breath sucked in hard, uncontrolled, a reflex, every muscle in his body bunching up in protest.

He couldn't breathe for a moment, his eyes wide open, then his muscles released just as reflexively as they had contracted, leaving him panting and feeling like his body had instantaneously lost cohesion and melted into a puddle. Eyes shut, mouth open, nostrils flaring. He was seeping into the ground even now. The cold, cold ground.

He heard Sam muttering faint apologies, felt her hands stroking reassuringly along his arm. Then a ripping sound. Tape? Oh, right. For the bandage. That oh-so-important bandage. Keeps good stuff in, bad stuff out. A little after the fact, but oh well. His jacket being pulled together, zipped up.

Rustling now, something being tucked around him. He slitted an eye open. Silvery. Thin. Like tin foil. No, more like holiday wrapping paper. Emergency blanket. To retain body heat. But he didn't feel like he had much body heat left to keep in. Maybe the poison eating through his flesh would generate enough heat to keep him warm. Keep him alive. Now wouldn't that be ironic.

Jack was yelling something. Well, not really yelling, but definitely cussing up a storm, "Damn, _damn_ , DAMN!", his voice getting louder with each "damn."

What was– Oh, never mind. Jack was always getting riled about something. Probably couldn't figure out the point of origin, like that was such a challenge. But no, that was really unkind. Jack knew how to decipher the glyphs just as well of the rest of them. It was a necessity. Who knew when – well, when what had just happened, would happen. Man down. Man overboard. Attack of the furry brown critters.

Something like a snigger tried to escape his lips, but it turned into a groan, deep in his throat, as his whole body jerked in a tight spasm before he began to shiver violently, consistently, in waves of varying intensity. He couldn't stop. He bunched his hands into fists, trying to pull the paper-thin protection of the emergency blanket more securely around himself. Where was Sam?

Voices drifted over him. Sam, then Jack.

"What's wrong?"

"DAMN!" The sound of a fist slamming down onto the DHD. "It's not working."

"What do you mean, not working? Did you get the sequence right? Sir?"

"Yes, I did." Annoyance. Jack being miffed and scathing in that oh-so-Jack way. "I may not be the whiz kid here, but I can damn well decipher these things as well as the rest of you."

"Okay, okay. I was just checking."

"It's just not working. It doesn't seem to be getting any power. There's no response at all." Frustration. Another punch to the hapless DHD. "Okay." Deep breath, audible in the still air. "See if you can fix it, Carter. I'll check on Daniel."

"Yes, Sir."

Footsteps, crunch-crunch on stone. Funny how you could tell so much from even the smallest of noises when your eyes were closed, when you were trying to focus on the sounds, keep yourself distracted from how your body felt. Trying to keep yourself from thinking how very, very bad it was that you couldn't stop yourself from shivering, teeth chattering, jaw intermittently clenching.

A strange whistling noise, cut short. Followed by another and another in rapid succession. A grunt of surprise. "Carter! Get the hell–" Footsteps stopping, then shuffling. The sound of a body hitting the ground.

"O'Neill!" Teal'c, yelling. Another weight falling, lighter but still substantial. Sam? "Captain Carter!" Teal'c almost never yelled.

Daniel struggled to open his eyes, his whole body freezing for an instant when he focussed on Jack, sprawled across the ground, face planted in a patch of moss, eyes closed and mouth slack. Sam was just beyond him, rolling onto her back with a gasp of misty breath before she, too, went still.

No, no, no. This was _not_ happening. Daniel tried to push himself up off the ground as he heard another pair of whistles, followed by a third weight, the most substantial yet, hitting the ground. And then his own strength gave out and he fell back, cursing himself over and over in his head as stars and bits of swirling black danced in front of his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm so, so sorry." As he slid into darkness, he wasn't even sure why he'd said that, what he was sorry for or to whom he was apologizing.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Jack swam back up towards consciousness as if he were trying to reach the surface of a lake after diving deep, much deeper than any sane person would've done without the benefit of breathing equipment. He felt as though he couldn't hold on much longer, as if he would never reach the flicker of light dancing so tantalizingly above him. His lungs were burning, and he knew at any moment he would give up and let the dark, cold water drag him back down, down into the depths, spinning and tumbling head over heels until–

His eyes snapped open and he sat up, drawing a deep, ragged breath at the same time. The room did a somersault around his shoulders, and he quickly pulled up his knees and dropped his head down to rest on his kneecaps. He took slow, deep breaths, gulping the warm air while his senses gradually fell back into line.

He was sitting on some kind of cot in the corner of a dark room, a rough wool blanket pulled over his legs. He squinted and shook his head, trying to clear the last of the cobwebs away, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw Carter lying on a cot next to the adjacent wall, her jacket neatly folded and laid at her feet on top of her blanket. Neither Teal'c nor Daniel were anywhere to be seen.

His boots were on the floor next to the cot, so he reached down and stuffed his feet into them, his fingers lacing them up automatically. He noticed their weapons and other supplies had not been put in the room with them.

There was a door in the opposite wall, slightly ajar so that flickering light and the soft sound of voices spilled into the room. He crept quietly across the floor, pausing by Carter's bed just long enough to make sure she was just unconscious and not injured in any other way. A nudge and a calling of her name confirmed that she still seemed to be out cold, so he made his way to the door and pushed it open a bit further to get a look out into the hallway. As he was looking down the passage in one direction, the sound coming from the other direction of a woman clearing her throat made him whip around so fast his head throbbed in protest.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people like that?" he snapped as he rubbed at his temple. The young woman was smiling at him in what seemed like a friendly way, and he wasn't armed in any event, so he decided to play the situation casually, but still with caution. Of course, he could have easily overwhelmed her with sheer brute strength, but that just wouldn't be polite and might get him into a heap of trouble. He had no idea where he was, after all. The last thing he remembered was being shot with a sedative dart like some animal, and two of his team members, one of them critically injured, were now missing.

"My mother tells me a great many things, O'Neill, but that does not mean I always listen," she said, a look of amusement spreading across her face at his consternation at being called by name.

"How did you know my name?" he asked, raising his guard a notch.

She just quirked an eyebrow at him, pale blue eyes glittering under a sweep of curly auburn hair, and pointed at his chest. He looked down, confused, then feeling foolish as he recalled that his last name was printed over the pocket of his jacket in standard military style. "So you can read." He hadn't meant it to be an insult, but she certainly took it as one.

"Yes, and from time to time, I've even been known to write a word or two. But I usually manage to find better uses for that skill than writing my own name on my clothing, as if I might forget who I am." Her eyes flashed brightly and she lifted her chin defiantly, daring him to insinuate that she was ignorant again.

"All right, all right," he sighed, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. First things first. Establish that his team members were all accounted for, then move on to nice little pleasantries. "I guess I'm not thinking too clearly right now, but being knocked out kind of does that to a guy. Look, why don't you just tell me what happened to the other two people I came here with."

Her angry expression faded away at his question, and she looked down and brushed absently at the plain, dark gown she was wearing before lifting her eyes to stare at him with something akin to her former defiance, but mixed with a hint of concern. "The Jaffa is elsewhere, under guard, since we had no way of knowing what his intentions might be, whether you accompanied him willingly or were his prisoners."

"He's our friend, and his name is Teal'c," Jack replied, a bit annoyed she had gone to the trouble to refer to himself by name, but not "the Jaffa." He had to remind himself that for most people who encountered Teal'c's kind, "Jaffa" meant nothing but trouble and usually in very large amounts.

"Very well. Teal'c, then," the woman replied, drawing herself up and folding her hands loosely in front of her. "I will see to it that he is released and brought here as soon as he awakens, although that may not be for some time. It took three darts to bring him down, so the sedative may take a while to wear off. But I assure you he is unharmed."

"And, uh, Jackson?" he asked, prompting her by pointing to the area above his pocket.

"Yes, Jackson," she responded, her shoulders slumping slightly and her forehead creasing in a troubled expression. "The one who was wounded. He is…" Her voice trailed off and she seemed to reconsider her next words. Jack's heart skipped a beat, but he blew out a sharp breath of relief as she continued, "He is alive, but in very poor condition. Come. I will take you to him. Carter will also be brought to you when she awakens."

She turned and gestured for him to accompany her down the dimly lit hallway in the direction of the flickering light and the voices Jack had detected earlier. When he eyed her skeptically, she said with a hint of apology in her voice, "You are safe here, O'Neill. None of us wish you harm. My name is Brecca, and you are in the house of Shardova of Freyholm. You were brought here only a few hours ago by the T'loknae."

"Excuse me? The Ta-what-ay?" Jack asked, stumbling on the unfamiliar word. He was somewhat reassured by her forthcoming attitude, though, and let her lead him slowly down the hall as she continued to speak.

"The T'loknae. The Guardians of the Gate. They are the original inhabitants of this world, small, dark-furred creatures, vaguely human in shape, but their ways are very strange to us. They mostly keep to themselves, in the forest near the Stargate. When the Tok'Ra brought us here, they made a pact with the T'loknae to watch over the Stargate, should the Goa'uld attempt to follow us. When the T'loknae saw the Jaffa with you, they were no doubt afraid exactly this had happened. That may be why they attacked your Jackson as they did. Usually, if creatures come through the Stargate who are not known to them, the T'loknae use their darts and bring the strangers here to us, as they did with you and Carter and Teal'c. They are not usually violent."

She was obviously very troubled by this turn of events, and her brief explanation intrigued Jack immensely, immediately raising about a dozen questions in his mind, especially concerning her mention of the Tok'Ra. They had arrived at their destination, though, and answers would have to wait for later, maybe even for a return visit to this place. Right now, his first concern was Daniel and getting him back to Earth as quickly as possible.

The room Brecca brought Jack to was similar to the one he had awakened in, sparsely furnished with bare walls of wooden planking and smooth floors of dull gray flagstone, the one difference being a hearth where a small, bright fire was burning. Two women stood near the blaze, conversing in low, urgent tones, apparently having a heated debate of some sort. One was an older woman who bore a distinct familial resemblance to Brecca, but her auburn hair was wavy instead of curly, pulled back into a loose knot, and her face was a bit longer and finer of feature than Brecca's rounded face. The other was a wrinkled old woman with brightly flashing ice-blue eyes and gray hair tightly braided down her back. Both were dressed in simple, dark gowns like Brecca, making Jack feel as though they had stumbled into some kind of Amish community without the funny white hats, although that would be totally inconsistent with the usual time periods for transplanted Earth cultures. How he could use Daniel's input right now.

The two women paused in their conversation when Jack entered the room, but he ignored them and went directly over to the cot in the corner by the hearth where Daniel was lying. There was a blanket pulled up to his chin, but Jack could see that he was still shaking, although somewhat less violently than he had been back at the Stargate. His color hadn't improved, and now there were also dark circles under his eyes and his lips were dry and cracked. They'd taken his glasses off, and his hair was damp and pushed back away from his face so that he hardly looked like himself. The signs of pain flickering back and forth across his features further conspired to obscure the man Jack had gradually come to regard as family.

Brecca conferred briefly with the two other women, and although they were speaking so softly he couldn't make out most of what they said, he could tell from the tone of their voices that the old woman and Brecca were having a rather vehement disagreement with the woman Jack assumed was Brecca's mother. There was an abrupt silence, and the middle-aged woman turned and stormed out of the room with the old woman close on her heels. Brecca sighed in resignation, then turned and gestured for Jack to sit on one of the wooden stools at Daniel's bedside while she lowered herself to another, tucking her skirt under her knees as she sat. She pulled her long hair around her neck and draped it over one shoulder where it would not get in her way, then proceeded to wipe Daniel's face with a cloth dipped in a bowl of water smelling strongly of some kind of herbs.

"My mother and grandmother," she explained. "My mother is not happy about you and your friends being here, but my grandmother has reminded her that it is our duty to give aid to those in need." Her tone of voice made it clear that she agreed with her grandmother, but she didn't elaborate, becoming absorbed in her task for a moment. Although Daniel was clearly lost in a fog of delirium, his head jerking fitfully against the pillow and an occasional word or moan escaping from his lips, he seemed to respond to her touch, leaning towards her hand and briefly becoming quiet.

"Sha're?" he whispered, his eyebrows first lifting, then drawing together in a frown as the inevitable signs of pain crept back into his face.

Brecca looked at Jack questioningly. "Sha're?" she repeated. "He keeps saying that word over and over. Is it a name?"

"His wife. She was taken by the Goa'uld," Jack answered simply. A pained expression crossed Brecca's face, but then she swallowed, nodded and went back to tending Daniel.

"Look, I don't mean to be rude," Jack continued, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, "but as you can see, he's obviously in very bad shape. We can help him if we can just get him back through the 'Gate to our own world."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," she answered, pausing in her ministrations and folding her hands in her lap, the wet cloth still clutched between her fingers.

"Why not?" Jack snapped, sitting up straighter.

"Are we prisoners here?" That was Carter's voice, and Jack turned to see her standing in the doorway, the old woman standing by her side for a moment before turning and departing again.

"No, no. Nothing like that. Come. Sit, and I'll explain," Brecca said in a reassuring voice, waving Carter towards another stool. "You are free to go whenever you want and wherever you want, but you will not be able to go through the Stargate until midday tomorrow at the earliest."

"We weren't able to reactivate it after we arrived here. Is it damaged somehow?" Carter asked as she hooked one foot around the offered stool and sat down.

"No, there is nothing wrong with it. It simply needs to recharge. It takes its power from the sun."

"Those tiles Daniel was wondering about," Carter said as her eyes opened wide in realization. "He pointed them out when we first arrived. They must be solar cells of some sort."

"Yes, that is what the Tok'Ra called them," Brecca said, nodding. The name caused Carter to glance sharply at Jack, a look which did not go unnoticed by Brecca. "You know of the Tok'Ra?"

"Yes, we've… heard of them," Jack responded slowly, not wanting to say anything more until he had a better idea of exactly what kind of situation they had gotten themselves into this time. "Go on."

"As I told O'Neill earlier, the Tok'Ra freed us from the rule of the Goa'uld and brought us here to this refuge. The T'loknae protect us," and here she inserted a brief explanation of who the T'loknae were for Carter's benefit. "The other means of defense that we have is built into the Stargate itself. It can only be activated for a few minutes at a time, and it takes a full day at the very least before it can be activated again. In this way the Tok'Ra made it impossible for large numbers of Goa'uld to come through the Stargate together. The few that might make it through at one time can be easily dealt with by the T'loknae, although there have not been any Goa'uld here in a very long time. In fact, you are the first outsiders to come here in my entire lifetime, other then the Tok'Ra who visit us from time to time."

"Great," Jack muttered. "No Goa'uld armies, but no rescue for Daniel either."

"Daniel?" Brecca asked, obviously somewhat confused. "Daniel… Jackson?" She gestured towards the cot.

"Yes, that's Daniel. Daniel Jackson is his full name."

"Ah. I see." She paused, reaching over to push a sweat-soaked strand of hair off Daniel's forehead. "We are doing what we can for him, but the poison is strange, one we have never encountered before." Her hand drifted down and she pulled a corner of the blanket from Daniel's shoulder. They had removed his jacket and shirt in order to tend him more easily, Brecca explained in a detached, business-like manner.

Her removal of the blanket from the right side of Daniel's chest revealed pale skin bruised to dark purple immediately around the wound and streaked with red across his chest and up onto his shoulder. There was a poultice of some kind covering the wound itself, which Carter leaned over to investigate more closely, but she almost immediately coughed and jerked back.

"It draws the poison," Brecca stated simply.

"It probably draws flies too," Carter replied sarcastically as she covered her mouth and nose with one hand, her eyes watering slightly.

Brecca shrugged. The smell obviously didn't bother her, or she simply saw it as an unpleasant necessity. "There are men trying to find the T'loknae who did this in hopes there is an antidote to the poison, but as I said, the T'loknae keep to themselves, and it is very difficult to communicate in any event. We have not been able to learn much of their language, and they have never attempted to speak to us in ours. It's a very limited alliance, obviously."

Brecca pulled the blanket back up over Daniel, then laid the back of her hand against his cheek. This time he twitched away from her touch. "He grows hot, and then cold, hot and cold, back and forth. Sometimes he is still and quiet, other times he shivers, other times he tosses and moans and speaks in a language I have never heard." She was staring down at Daniel's pale face and it seemed for a moment that she had almost forgotten Carter and Jack were there. "The poultice does not seem to be doing much good, and I fear he will not survive until the morning. We have sent for Trieste, but she has gone to one of the outlying villages. She may not return here in time."

Jack swallowed and looked at Carter, who was not doing a very good job of hiding her distress at Brecca's opinion. The glimmer in her eyes was probably not entirely the effect of smelly folk remedies. Carter wouldn't cry, though. She was tough. She was strong. Jack had seen her go though much worse than this, and she always managed to hold together. This time would be no different. They would be fine. They would all be fine, damn it. There simply wasn't any other option.

"This Trieste – she's a healer of some kind?" Carter asked, a bit of a quiver in her voice.

"Yes." Brecca nodded. "She has… methods at her disposal that are… very unusual, to say the least." She seemed reluctant to say more, so Jack decided not to pursue the matter. Either Trieste would be able to help, or she wouldn't. Actually, he felt so desperate at the moment he'd probably be willing to try chanting and burning incense if someone suggested it would do some good.

They sat quietly for a few moments, the only sounds the crackling of the fire in the hearth and a few muttered words and fragments of words from Daniel as he struggled in the grip of the toxin that had invaded his body. It had been a long time since Jack had felt so helpless, since his son had died… He let that thought drift away. It wouldn't do any good to be dwelling on thoughts of death.

Brecca finally broke the silence by drawing a deep breath and slowly pulling herself to her feet. "It should be about time for the evening meal. Would you like to join us?" The offer was half-hearted, obligatory. She seemed to be taking Daniel's plight as seriously as his friends despite the fact that she had never so much as laid eyes on him before this day. This reassured Jack that they had at least one ally here who truly believed in the "give aid to those in need" principle. Either that, or she was simply – well, "smitten" would be the right word. She wouldn't be the first. At the moment, though, Daniel was hardly displaying his usual personality or appearance in any way, shape or form, and he looked like such complete and utter crap that Jack couldn't imagine any woman being in the least bit attracted to him. Some women were strange, though. Some women were actually drawn to the wounded and suffering like moths to a candle flame.

Brecca's dinner invitation was obviously addressed to both Carter and himself, but Jack answered for both of them. "No, thank you. I'd think we'd rather stay here with Daniel." He had absolutely no intention of leaving his friend's side until he either he was better or– No. He absolutely refused to even consider that possibility. They would just have to hope that this Trieste arrived soon and that her healing ability was as advertised.

Brecca nodded her understanding and told them she would send some food for them to eat there at Daniel's bedside. Her offer and Jack's brief nod of acceptance were simply matters of form, though. He knew he wouldn't be able to get down a single bite, and he suspected Carter wouldn't either.

Just as Brecca was about to leave, though, Carter stopped her. "Brecca, wait." She stood up and looked back and forth between Jack and the young woman as she spoke. "If I could talk to some of your people, maybe take a look around your village… There's a lot we know about the Stargate. We might be able to get it activated before tomorrow."

Of course! Jack wanted to bang his head against the nearest wall. That knock-out dart really must have addled their wits if neither one of them had thought of this before now. If Carter could find something, anything, that she could jury-rig as a power source to free up the rings of the Stargate to allow manual input of the address for Earth… They had done it before, they could do it again. What they had seen of this place so far didn't provide much encouragement that large power sources would just be laying about in the street, but Carter was resourceful. If there was anything here that could be used to activate the 'Gate, she would find it.

Brecca nodded. "Yes, that can be arranged, although you should be careful of what you say. There are those who would be very upset at the idea of reactivating the Stargate prematurely."

Brecca seemed a bit uneasy at the idea herself, but Jack thought he could also detect a spark of curiosity there. "Go," he told Carter. "I'll stay with Daniel." He wasn't sure what he could do here, but he felt one of them should stay. To be perfectly honest with himself, he didn't hold out very high hopes that Carter would find anything of use judging from the low- or even no-tech appearance of this society, but he couldn't let the possibility go unexplored. Maybe he would see if they had some incense on hand, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Several hours passed, and Jack found himself more bone-weary than he been in a very long time. Vigils were certainly not among his favorite ways to pass time, especially not when they involved sitting at what might become the deathbed of a friend if something didn't happen soon. Daniel's fever had risen and fallen at least a dozen times, each time draining a little more life away until Jack was quite frankly amazed he was still managing to cling to life. He had never realized the full extent of the reserves of strength Daniel possessed, all centered around one other person, a face, a name, a heart and soul that were always with him, no matter what – Sha're.

It was easy to forget what Daniel's main purpose was in being a part of the SG-1 team since he very rarely even mentioned his wife, but Jack supposed that was the only way Daniel could deal with the pain of her loss on a day-to-day basis. It still hurt like hell for Jack to even think of his son, and he didn't much care to be reminded of what had happened to Skaara, who was like another son to him in a way. He could only imagine what agony it must be for Daniel with each day that went by without so much as a hint of where Sha're might be or even whether she was still alive or could be returned to herself again.

So Daniel buried himself in his other great love, the study of ancient cultures, and griped and complained bitterly every time he was denied the opportunity to study a world more thoroughly. Sometimes his focus on that aspect of their missions bordered on obsession, but Daniel could be a very obsessive person in general. It was probably a good thing he had some kind of outlet for all of the horribly conflicting emotions that must be inspired by the memory of that terrible day when Sha're had been taken.

Daniel was quiet now, but the look on Brecca's face the last time she had come to check on her patient had been as grim as it had been all evening. She had muttered something about Trieste arriving soon, but it seemed she was beginning to believe Daniel was already past all hope. Jack refused to believe that. That would be defeat, and losing was something he liked even less than waiting. He tried to reassure himself with the fact that Daniel had even opened his eyes less than an hour ago, looked right at Jack and asked him where he was. Jack had answered, but Daniel hadn't seem to register what he had been told and had tried to pull himself out of bed, muttering something about Sha're being angry at him for sleeping so late. Jack had gently pushed him back down into the bed, telling him that Sha're really wouldn't mind, just this once.

Immediately after that, a fit of violent spasms stronger than any so far had wracked Daniel's body, his breath coming in great, ragged gasps until Jack was convinced he was witnessing the death throes of his friend. Just as suddenly as the tremors had started, though, they ceased, and Daniel had slumped into the eerie stillness that had lasted for the last half hour. His breathing was extremely shallow so that Jack had to keep checking to see that he was still hanging on, but every now and then, his eyelids would slowly lift, and he would stare at nothing with glassy, bloodshot eyes for a few seconds before closing his eyes again. He didn't try to talk to Jack again – or whomever he thought he was talking to.

Teal'c had been brought to the room a couple of hours ago looking like he had the worst hangover imaginable. Jack had been tempted to tease him about his wild partying habits, but that probably would've required an explanation of human "customs" that Jack didn't feel up to, so he simply briefed Teal'c on the current situation. The Jaffa had nodded and, without speaking a word, taken up a position next to the door, looking for all the world like he wouldn't hesitate to tear to shreds with his bare hands anyone who so much as glared at either Jack or Daniel.

Jack had decided to let Teal'c be. He didn't think they really needed a guard, but if it made Teal'c feel like he was being useful, fine. Jack just wished he could do something more than sit there. Moral support was well and good, but when the intended object of that support wasn't even aware you were there – it was frustrating to say the least.

Carter finally returned and briefly greeted Teal'c before shaking her head at Jack as she slumped down onto one of the stools. "If you were holding your breath, you can stop now," she said.

"I wasn't," Jack answered truthfully.

"These people actually aren't as primitive as they seem at first. They have a highly developed culture and extensive knowledge of art, music, even mathematics, but there seems to be some kind of cultural taboo against altering the natural world. They try to live in harmony with their surroundings, using science only as a means to understand and protect their environment. They've got a hell of a library, and some of the buildings here are pretty impressive feats of engineering, but their technology doesn't extend beyond simple machines like levers and pulleys. Judging from names and appearances, I'd have to guess they're of Scandinavian origin, but Daniel would probably be able to tell for sure…" She fell silent for a moment, then swallowed and asked, "How is he?"

Jack didn't say anything, just reached over and pulled the blanket down from Daniel's shoulder. Almost half of his chest now looked like one huge bruise and the red path of the poison's ravages had spread down his right arm and up the side of his neck into his hairline.

Carter sucked in her breath, then reached out a shaky hand to touch Daniel's side. Jack knew exactly what she would be feeling under her fingers – skin that was clammy on the surface but with feverish heat underneath. The corner of his mouth twitched as he watched her move to squeeze Daniel's hand in what was probably a vague attempt at comfort. He knew what she'd be feeling there as well, had felt it himself several times over the past few hours. Icy cold fingers, an equally cold arm. No heat there at all, at least none that was detectable by touch.

"Who would do such a thing?" she whispered fiercely. "What sick son of a bitch would actually use a poison that kills so slowly and so painfully?" She flinched at the harshness of her own words.

"I don't know, but horrible as this sounds," Jack replied quietly, "the fact that this poison is slow-acting is about the only thing working in Daniel's favor right now." Silence again. Jack decided to add silence to the list of things he hated. "Then again, maybe I spoke too soon," he said, nodding towards the door and prompting Sam to turn around to see what he was talking about.

Brecca and her grandmother had both returned, bringing with them a tall, slender woman wearing an ankle-length cloak made of flowing, dark green fabric, a green so deep it almost seemed black. Jack would've sworn it was, in fact, if it hadn't been for the contrast provided by the woman's hair, ebony tresses gathered onto the top of her head in an elaborate style of shining loops and braids. Her skin was a warm olive, and her almond-shaped eyes quickly swept around the room, lingering for a moment on Jack, Carter, Teal'c and Daniel in turn. Jack felt strange under that gaze, and his uneasy feeling wasn't helped by the fact that he couldn't quite place the woman's age, not even within a few decades. There seem to be faint lines around her eyes, but in the shifting light of the fire, she looked very old at one moment and very young the next.

Brecca quickly walked over to Jack and Carter and motioned for them to move away from Daniel, which they did with only a fractional hesitation. She then cleared all but one of the stools out of the way before coming over to join them on the other side of the room. Teal'c, however, was reluctant to abandon his post at the door and seemed to want to engage the newcomer in a staring contest. The woman gazed unflinchingly back at him until Brecca came and laid a hand on his arm. The Jaffa ignored her, though, and looked over the top of Brecca's head at Jack. Jack nodded and jerked his head to the side, indicating that Teal'c should join him and Carter. The Jaffa did so, but not before casting one final, threatening look over his shoulder at the strange woman.

Now that the area around Daniel was finally cleared, Brecca's grandmother escorted the visitor over to the cot, and she sat with a graceful sweep of her cloak, revealing a gown of matching fabric embroidered at the hem with strange, silver symbols and cinched at the waist with an elaborately braided belt of dark leather studded with silver.

"This is Trieste," Brecca whispered with a touch of reverence in her voice, confirming what Jack had already guessed.

"She's not from around these parts, is she?" Jack whispered back, referring to the woman's dark hair and skin – decidedly not Scandinavian in origin. He knew he was stating the obvious but hoped his comment would prompt Brecca to enlighten them further.

"No," Brecca replied. She didn't seem inclined to elaborate as she turned her attention to what Trieste was doing, which at this point was little more than assessing Daniel's condition with no instrument other than her hands and eyes, long fingers gently probing at the wound and tracing the crimson pathways across pale skin. Jack wasn't particularly reassured by this simple beginning, but he held a faint hope that some miracle was contained in the covered vessel of heavily engraved silver that the healer had carried in with her and set on the floor at her side. He was about to ask what was in the urn when Brecca turned, looking him directly in the eye with the sort of expression that dared him to object, and stated firmly, "She is one of the Tok'Ra."

Jack felt his eyebrows shooting up of their own accord. Sure, Brecca had told them some of the Tok'Ra visited here from time to time, but she had forgotten to mention their much-vaunted healer was, in fact, a Goa'uld. He stifled his initial knee-jerk objection. Goa'uld or not, their few past dealings with the Tok'Ra had shown them that the enemy of their enemy just might truly be their friend – and to be brutally honest, they really didn't have any choice at this point. Daniel was quite literally at death's doorstep, and this woman, whatever her race or political affiliation, was the last hope he had.

Trieste was apparently finished with her preliminary examination, and she reached down and flipped back the lid of the silver urn, reaching in to retrieve something small and whitish – and squirming. Jack wasn't sure what the thing was, although he was somehow reminded of leeches – maybe some kind of mutant albino leeches.

Carter, though, jumped to her own conclusion. "My God, it's a Goa'uld larva," she gasped.

Jack's head whipped around to register the shock on her face, any other movement momentarily frozen by the icy fear suddenly flooding his veins. He lurched forward only a few seconds later, instinct screaming at him to stop what was happening, but by then it was too late, and he halted dead in his tracks. The larva had instantly homed in on the wound in Daniel's side and entered his body with a sickening, slithering sound.

Daniel's eyes snapped open and he stared directly at Trieste for a few seconds of mute agony, every muscle in his body tensed and his hands balling into fists at his sides. Life seemed to flow out of him then, and his eyelids squeezed tightly shut as he drew a great, shuddering breath that was followed by an equally prolonged exhalation broken by several horribly sharp catches. His body abruptly went completely limp, and he was silent, quieter than any natural state of sleep or unconsciousness, still as death.

Brecca grabbed Jack's arm and jerked him back hard. Normally, he would've been able to break such a grip with ease, but given the utter dismay and disgust filling him, he only stumbled numbly backwards until he bumped into Carter. Judging by the wide-eyed looked of horror on her face, Jack assumed she must be recalling her own experience being possessed by a Goa'uld. Even though that Goa'uld had also been one of the Tok'Ra and had given its life to save Carter, he doubted she would ever wish the experience on anyone else. Not even to save the life of a friend.

"Carter, it's all right," Brecca was saying, rubbing Sam's arm in an attempt to get some response out of her. "I've seen this done before. Daniel will be fine."

Teal'c hadn't said a word, which wasn't surprising since he carried a Goa'uld larva himself and wouldn't necessarily be bothered by the presence of another. Jack knew, though, where Teal'c's true loyalties were. He would act the moment his commanding officer gave the sign. The only problem was Jack didn't know what kind of action was dictated by this particular situation, if reaction was really needed at all.

He turned to Trieste, unsure whether he should thank the woman or beat her to a bloody pulp. A Goa'uld larva did have incredible powers to boost the natural healing systems of its host, but what else it would do to Daniel in the process was by no means certain.

The healer didn't seem to have taken any notice of the commotion going on behind her, her eyes still fixed intently on Daniel, but now she turned and rose to face Jack, as if sensing his intentions to confront her. He was a bit disconcerted by the fact that she was just as tall as he was, if not a bit taller, and she gazed at him with such an odd mixture of arrogance, certainty and compassion that he was struck speechless.

"This was necessary, O'Neill," she said in the deeply echoing tone of voice that verified beyond a doubt that she was, in fact, Goa'uld. "Your friend surely would have died otherwise."

"Maybe he would've been better off dead," Jack replied, wanting to hate this creature, but finding it difficult to do so. He had only the word of virtual strangers to let him know she was not like most other Goa'uld they had encountered, but he was tired, so very, very tired, and things like anger or deception or blame didn't seem to matter any longer.

"I don't think you truly believe that," she answered simply, smiling at him in a way that was probably meant to reassure. He felt the distrust begin to melt away. It didn't seem that anything at all was able to maintain solidity in the fog of weariness that was seeping into ever fiber of his being, but through the haze of exhaustion and futility, his naturally cautious and suspicious nature asserted itself. He stood up a little straighter, taller than even parade ground stance, noting with satisfaction that this allowed him to look down at her ever so slightly.

Trieste didn't seem to be interested in sparring with him, though, either verbally or through subtle gestures and posturing. She simply folded her hands in front of her and spoke quietly, a hint of pride in her voice, but a great deal of empathy there as well, encompassed by an undeniable air of truth. "I am Tok'Ra, Colonel O'Neill. I would never force the Blending upon someone who was not willing to accept it. The creature that even now heals your friend is not a Goa'uld larva, but something akin to it. Not as highly developed, very short-lived, not even truly sentient, but very useful in many ways, including the clearing of toxins or bacteria from infected bodies. It will do its work, metabolize the poison into a harmless substance, and then die, its life's work complete. Its great fortune, and our great blessing, is the utter simplicity of its purpose in existing. It will do no harm."

Seeming to feel that her mission here was now completed, Trieste moved to retrieve the silver urn from the floor near Daniel's bed, but Jack quickly repositioned himself in front of her, hoping to make it clear she had better be telling the truth or there would be hell to pay. Trieste only tilted her head and smiled faintly. "It is difficult for me to fathom that one person could be so untrusting. Have faith, O'Neill," she said softly, her eyes shining with some emotion Jack could not identify, if he even cared to try. "I know this does not come easily to you, but you must put your trust in others and let them believe in you in turn if you and your friends are to survive. If any of us are to survive." With that, she turned, quickly stooping to pick up the urn, and swept silently out of the room. Brecca's grandmother followed, but not before nodding to Brecca to accompany them and fixing Carter, Teal'c and Jack each with a strangely challenging stare. Brecca gave Carter's arm one final, reassuring pat before she ducked her head and followed her grandmother out of the room.

After a moment of stunned silence during which his brain did cartwheels in a futile attempt to digest what he had just been told, Jack shook his head and turned back towards Carter and Teal'c. "Well, that sounded ominous. What the hell did she mean by that?"

Carter simply shrugged, but Teal'c ventured, "It sounded like a warning, but also like a prophecy."

"Prophecy, schmophecy," Jack retorted. "You can keep all that mumbo jumbo to yourself, thank you very much." Teal'c frowned at this, so Jack added apologetically, "No offense to you and whatever your beliefs may be Teal'c, but I feel like I've just been voodooed or something, and I don't like it one bit." He blew out a short, sharp breath and shook himself, waggling his arms in the air and then stuffing his hands into his pockets.

He walked hesitantly over to Daniel and looked down for a moment, his eyes searching for some sign of life. Daniel was barely breathing, his chest rising and falling only slightly, but life was life, and it was more than Jack had hoped for just a short while ago. He started to sit on the stool that Trieste had recently vacated, but without a word, he shoved the stool aside and pulled up another one. He rested his elbows on his knees and put his chin on his clasped hands. Carter joined him, and even Teal'c lowered himself to a seat, his tall body awkwardly folding to accommodate itself to the low stool. Back to waiting, but hopefully not for much longer, one way or another.

* * *

There was darkness, and there was light, and there was the grayness between the two. There was heat, and there was cold, and there was a gentle, comforting solace that was both hot and chilled at once. There was pain, and there was numbness, but there was a vital sense of being, of blood rushing through veins and measured breaths being drawn into lungs. Daniel floated somewhere in the midst of these sensations, his awareness swaying like a pendulum from dark to light, from heat to cold, from pain to bliss.

Fractured glimpses of another world made their way to him from time to time, familiar voices, the flicker of firelight, an unfamiliar touch that reminded him of someone else, cool water and the sent of herbs – and pain, pain, always the pain, burning and searing like a living thing, tearing him away from jumbled fragments of reality.

He heard a voice that sounded like his own voice, saying things that didn't make sense, speaking one moment in the flowing language of Abydos, then in Ancient Greek, then in English for a word or two. He couldn't hold onto a sense of self or an awareness of a physical body long enough to determine if he was actually speaking or if it was someone who only sounded like him – or if he was simply catching the memory of speech as it drifted back to him across the silent gulf of still, dark waters surrounding him.

He let himself float on the water, feeling it wash around him, alternately warm and shockingly cold, glittering with reflected starlight, pulsing with the velvet black of the space between the stars. Every now and then, the water would wash up over his face, and he would gasp for air, thrashing against the embrace of the water until he could breathe again, until the turbulence settled and he floated calmly once more. A few times he even felt himself begin to slide beneath the waters, and he almost let it happen, wanting so much to find an end to this empty, ceaseless night, but something called him back, something made him find the strength to cling to the silvery thread binding him to fragile life.

A memory called out to him, beckoned him with warm and graceful hands, a touch in another night, a twilight filled with soft breezes and the scent of wood smoke and a name, whispered on the wind. He clung to that name, letting it carry him through the endless midnight. It was his comfort, his heart's ease, his life's blood, his final resting place, no matter what happened, no matter what was yet to be.

There was a light, a sudden, blinding stab of searing pain, and the waters ran away into the desert sands. He walked across a wasteland at midnight, the sky above filled with strange stars wheeling about in foreign patterns, three moons silvering the ground with the reflected light of an alien sun. His feet were bare, and the sand was cool, but every few steps, a thorn would pierce the tender flesh of his soles, and he would stagger, sand grinding into the wound and fire flaring up through his legs. Again and again, the thorns tore at his feet and attempted to snag at his arms and legs with ragged hands, but he trudged onwards, limping painfully through the night, knowing in his heart that he was almost there, that if he could only manage a few more steps, he would be there.

And then, suddenly, he had arrived, his feet now pressed against smooth, cool stone, black granite polished to the sheen of still, dark waters, the air around him sweet with incense and gentle breezes stirring long drapes of golden and misty gossamer silk. She was there, huddled in a pool of shadow in a dark and lonely corner, one fluttering edge of crepe waving back and forth next to her, obscuring her face and then revealing it again, like the moon coming out from behind a cloud. But it was a sorrowful moon, its pale contours tarnished with tears, and beneath the translucent surface were barely visible fissures threatening to break the whole apart. He felt every one of those cracks as if they were in his own heart, as if they were wounds in his own body.

He held out his arms to her and called her name, willing her to rise up out of the shadows, yearning with every ounce of his soul and spirit to summon the bright dawn he knew lived there still, its promise shrouded in the deep of night.

She lifted her head and turned dull, lifeless eyes towards him, but when she saw him standing there, like an apparition formed of her own desires but also solid and real, oh so heartbreakingly real, a spark flared within her. She had thought there was nothing but cold stone left to her, had believed there would never again be warmth in this frozen, dark place, but she knew now she was wrong. There was still an ember, banked beneath the ashes, waiting for the moment when the breath would come that would fan it to life again. She sighed and let the radiance of that fire fill her, let her brittle, hollow bones fill with marrow again, let the blood come rushing out of the gates of her heart, pounding through her veins and throbbing in her head like the wild elation of a festival dance. She rose up from the dark and walked toward him, the soft embrace of silk flowing across her skin and falling away.

They touched, warm hands sliding across warm skin, arms full of life wrapping around bodies overflowing with radiance, lips brushing together, then melding into one another, the rush of life and breath and body and soul intertwining, welling up out of the boundless depths of the soul. An eternity passed, an endless, timeless wilderness of passion, hope and faith and love returning, renewing, crying out that they had never gone away, that they would always be there, beyond flesh, beyond dreams, beyond life.

And then she was gone, fading away like the wisp of smoke that lingers after the flash, yet imprinted on every fiber of his being like the afterimage of a lightening strike. He braced himself for the searing pain he knew would come, but there was nothing but silence and a veil of shadows. Light flickered through the tattered shroud of night, and he knew she was with him, would be there always, for as long as his heart flowed with blood and his lungs filled with breath. Perhaps even beyond that.

The light called him back, beckoned to him, illuminated the path that would carry him home. A shimmering being appeared before him, tall and willowy, inhumanly slender. Its head was narrow with a pointed chin, and its ears were long and sharply tipped. Its eyes were deeply slanted and filled with liquid light, a luminescence that ran down alabaster cheeks and washed over outstretched ivory hands, spilling across the path and filling all the world with its beauty. He let the creature take his hand, let it guide him back across the dark waters, across the wide valley filled with impotent shadows, back to the place where he truly belonged, back to the world where she waited for him still, back to love and to hope and to life.

* * *

"All love is sweet,  
Given or returned. Common as light is love,  
And its familiar voice wearies not ever."

\- Percy Bysshe Shelley, _Prometheus Unbound_

* * *

The End


End file.
